Up to this moment the elements had behaved towards us with remarkable kindness. We had, therefore, no right to complain, however deeply we might lament the circumstance, when, on drawing up the window-blinds, we ascertained that the rain was falling in torrents; and we felt that we must needs face it. We therefore descended to the tap-room, after discussing our cakes and coffee, and proceeded to bid our landlady farewell. But neither she nor her husband would permit us to budge an inch. The rain could not last. Only wait an hour, and the sky would be clear, when our host himself would be our guide, and put us in a way of reaching Liebenau much more agreeably, as well as with less fatigue, than if we followed the high road. We could not resist this appeal, so we sat still.
At length, about eight o'clock, though the rain had not entirely ceased, the heavens looked so bright that we expressed an earnest desire to push forward. As no mercenary motives had operated to produce the previous opposition of our hosts, so now such opposition was at once withdrawn; and the landlord, slinging his gun and pouch over his shoulder, declared himself at our command. We took leave of the kind landlady, not without tears on her side, and quitted Gabel, in all probability, for ever.
We had been correctly warned as to the probable duration of the storm. The rain, which fell in occasional showers when we first set out, soon ceased entirely, and we had once more a clear and cloudless sky, with a nice cool breeze just sufficiently powerful to refresh without incommoding us. Our walk, likewise, was very interesting; for, independently of the extreme beauty of the scene,—hills and dales, forests and cultivated fields, deep glens and swelling table-lands,—we passed over ground which had witnessed some sharp fighting during the movements of the French army upon Dresden. The Allies, it appears, manœuvred well in this quarter; for, by showing numerous skeletons of corps, they led Napoleon to imagine that a large army of Austrians, Russians, and Prussians was here; and, while he watched them carefully, they had well-nigh cut him off from his line of retreat. During these demonstrations on both sides, foraging parties had been sent out from Gabel, to sweep the neighbouring villages. These our guide had seen, and one of them he followed so as to become eye-witness to an affair which it had near a hamlet which we passed. He described the scattering fire of the jagers, and the occasional dashes of the hussars, with great animation, though, according to his showing, this, like other rencounters of the sort, cost more powder than lives.
Having accompanied us at least two German miles,—that is, full ten miles according to our English mode of computing distances,—the landlord of the Hernhause stopped short, and prepared to take his leave. We shook hands warmly, and I thought I heard his voice quiver when, in return for a cast of flies, he thanked me. Nor must I permit it to be believed, that the regrets were all on his side. I do not know when my feelings have been more engaged among strangers, than by the unaffected kindness of the people of Gabel,—a kindness on which we had no right to calculate, however much we might be justified in looking for civility in return for our money.
Once more, then, the world was before us, and seldom has it shone out beneath the gaze of youth and inexperience more winningly than it did under the influence of that delicious day. The rain of the preceding night, and of the early part of the morning, had given to herb and tree a fresher and a fairer green. The fallows wore no longer a parched-up and dust-like hue, and the rivulets, swollen but not polluted, retained their lucid character as they rolled on their way. From brake and bush, from grove and hedge-row, thousands of unseen choristers filled the air with melody, and the very oxen and horses, as they dragged their ploughs, or toiled onwards with their wagons, seemed to acknowledge the blessed influence which other creatures felt. We sat beneath the shade of a small plantation to enjoy the scene, and then, with spirits unconsciously elevated, and hearts not, I trust, insensible to the glories of nature, and the goodness of nature's God, resumed our pilgrimage.
Our route lay, throughout the whole of this day's progress, through green fields, and over narrow footpaths. Not so much as once were we driven to the necessity of following the high road; but taking our observations carefully, and bearing with wonderful exactness from point to point, we had already arrived within an hour's walk of Liebenau, before we were aware. While compassing the space that intervened between the village where our guide quitted us and this, which had been marked down as our resting-place for the night, we passed many striking and beautiful landscapes, such as I would willingly pause to describe, were human language capable of describing them faithfully. Everywhere around us, bold conical hills stood up, not a few of which bore upon their summits the ruins of old castles, while all were more or less clothed throughout with noble forests. For the portion of Bohemia which we were now crossing, may with perfect truth be represented as a succession of glorious valleys, overshadowed by not less glorious mountains. The straths are all of them fertile to an extraordinary degree, and as I have already stated, both they and the hill-sides abound with inhabitants. Yet is the country a mountain district, in every sense of the word, though the very mountains either are by nature, or have by industry been rendered, uncommonly fertile.
The great defect in Bohemian scenery, is the absence of water. There is scarcely a lake in the whole kingdom, and, with the exception of two or three, such as the Elbe, the Iser, the Bober, &c., the rivers hardly deserve to take rank with the larger class of our mountain streams. Such a defect is sorely felt by him who, looking down from the brow of a lofty hill over a wide plain, beholds perfection in every particular, except that there is no water there; and when from the narrower ravines you miss the lochs and tarns, which give to Cumberland and the Highlands of Scotland their peculiar character, your disappointment scarcely falls short of mortification. Perhaps, indeed, a double motive may have operated with us to produce this feeling. Our eyes pined, in the first place, for the object on which, in such situations, they had been accustomed at home to repose; and secondly, our fishing-rods felt like useless burdens in our hands. But it was not destined to be so for ever, as I shall have occasion, in the course of my narrative, to show.
We had walked well and stoutly,—the sort of half-rest which we enjoyed the day before giving fresh vigour to our limbs,—so that between two and three o'clock we ventured to calculate that Liebenau could not be far distant. Hunger and thirst were, however, beginning to be rather inconveniently felt; and as our calculations might after all be erroneous, we judged it prudent to seek, in a little ale-house by the way-side, such refreshment as could be procured. Our hotel was of the very humblest description; namely, the beer-house of a small hamlet, and could furnish only brown bread, cheese, butter, and beer. These, in the existing state of our appetites, went down famously; and a pipe of good tobacco to wind up withal, was not out of place. Neither was even this unpretending house of call destitute to us of subjects of interest. We found when we entered the tap-room two young men asleep on the benches, and a couple of large packs lying beside them. They awoke shortly afterwards, and proved to be, as we had expected, journeymen mechanics. For in Germany a custom universally prevails, that young men, after serving their apprenticeship to the trade which they intend to practise, go forth upon their travels, and dispose of their wares, not only in remote towns and villages of their native state, but in foreign lands. Some of these journeymen travel from Saxony, for example, as far as Hamburg and Copenhagen. Several make their way into France; and I have even heard of them penetrating both the wilds of Russia, and the classical and fair fields of Italy. The consequence is, that they return home with minds very much enlarged, and an acquaintance, more or less accurate, not only with the systems of commerce, but with the languages of foreign countries, and that a stranger is surprised on entering a shop in Dresden or Zittau, to find that French, and perhaps Italian and English, are understood by the tradesman who keeps it.
The young men whom we found in occupation of the tap-room were by trade cutlers. Natives of some obscure town in Prussian Silesia, of which I have forgotten the name, they were wandering about through Bohemia with the intention by-and-by of proceeding into Saxony, and so round by Berlin and Potsdam to their homes. Their knapsacks, which they hastened according to established usage to unbuckle, contained a plentiful supply of knives, forks, scissors, and razors; but the poor fellows were not successful in driving a bargain, for their charges were exorbitantly high, and their goods of an indifferent quality. Even the host himself bid but one-half their demand, and neither he nor we could bring the merchants to our terms.
While we were haggling about an eighteen-penny clasp knife, the door of the tap-room opened, and there entered an old man, clothed in rags, with a wallet at his back and a long piked stick in his hand; who, uncovering his head, knelt down upon the floor, and began to pray and cross himself with surprising volubility. My young companion gave him a piece of money, which checked his devotions only for a moment; for he merely looked at it, nodded his head again, and resumed his muttering with all possible eagerness. But at the termination of, perhaps, five minutes, his prayers seemed to have been told out,—for he rose and with a loud voice pronounced a benediction on the house and all that were in it. This done, he turned about, and walked away.